Lost in a Swarm
by Sukuangtou
Summary: While visiting London for a meeting, little Iceland finds himself lost in a crowd where everyone looks the same while Norway worries for the safety of his brother. One-shot. Set in the Victorian era.


Resting on the looped, metal cage of the coat hanger which swung gently on the wardrobe door, the newly purchased suit hung limply, lifelessly, waiting for its new owner to place himself into its body and spring it to life like a puppet. Deep ink-coloured cotton created the high-class jacked, glistening golden buttons slipped into their holes, decorated with swirls, twists and curves. Beneath, a frilly necked, crisp white shirt could be seen, the ruffles falling from the stiff collar to the top button of the jacket, which lay just under the chest. A matching set of trousers, folded over the bottom metal strip of the hanger, poked out underneath the outfit, brushing against the cherry red wood of the wardrobe as the hanger itself moved slowly back and forth.

Right to the wardrobe, a stack of drawers sat, upon the smooth surface of the top a pair of well-polished shoes shined in the morning sun that trickled in through the open window, their laces neatly knotted into delicate bows. Next to them, a small top hat lay beside a brush which had been used the previous evening to move the fine hairs of the hat in the same direction. Winding around the base of the hat above its curling edges, a teal-coloured, silky ribbon hugged the item, giving off a finishing touch to the outfit.

From the other side of the room, buried deeply under the _Red Lion Hotel _engraved covers of the bed, Iceland peeked out at the suit, distaste evident in his featured. Violet eyes skimmed over the clothes, then to the hat and shoes.

Shifting slightly so he was now sitting upright at the head of the bed, he pouted, glancing out of the window as the mass of chimneys breaking the skyline, darkened with the rising sun, several pillars of smoke fogging the air. Grabbing onto Mr Puffin who was perched next to him on the pillow, he slipped out of the bed, the distance between his feet and the floor causing him to topple slightly as he landed. A battered, old blue and red pattered rug covered the hard wooden floorboards but stopped a few feet from the bed, causing his feet to create padding sounds against their surface as he toddled over to the window; reaching up to help Mr Puffin sit on the window sill. Even on his tiptoes the bird still had to flap his wings to help himself up.

Now happy that Mr Puffin was settled, Iceland scampered over to the chair sat by a small, round coffee table at his bedside, upon it a heavy, potted jug of water and a basin and cloth. Sticking his tongue out, the silver-haired boy heaved against the chair, nudging it about a foot across the floor with a harsh scrape before stopping, panting with the effort. Undeterred by the amount of labour it was taking, he repeated the action again, and again, until eventually the back of the chair was facing the window and the world outside.

Using the structure of the chair as some sort of awkward ladder, Iceland gradually heaved himself up of the floor until he rested on his stomach across the base of the chair, his hands clutching the back frame while his legs kicked at the air. From his spot above him Mr Puffin preened himself, warming his body in the morning sun while his master struggled below him. Finally, with one last pull, Iceland got his entire body on the chair and, smiling at his achievement, he stood up; his knees now level with the window sill meaning he could kneel on it to get a better look at the ground below.

Early morning street-goers walked along the pavements; a group of well-groomed business men strutted along, their walking sticks swinging with each stride. Children, mostly older than him, ran along the empty road and up behind the houses at the end of the street, laughing as they startled a dosing cat on a doorstep. A man driving a horse and cart smoked a large-looking pipe as his red and green polished wagon advertised fresh vegetables for sell. The horse, a dappled brown colour, snorted and stomped a hoof as it was brought to a stop, flicking its ears back and forth before flinging its head skywards, biting on the bit in its mouth.

Appearing from the alley on his side of the street, Iceland spotted a chimney sweep trotting along; his face darkened with soot, matching his dirty clothes while his brush swayed from side to side on his shoulder, each spike poking at a different angle showing its regular use. The man hopped off the pavement, continuing along until he reached the other side of the road. Only then did he stop, glancing up at the man on the wagon while reaching into an inside jacket pocket. The other nodded, holding out a box of matched while the chimney sweep stuck a pipe in his mouth before striking a match alight, taking a few puffs of smoke as he held the flame to his tobacco.

Tipping his flat cap in thanks, he watched as the man started the horse off again, slowly steering the wagon out of sight. Iceland continued watching the horse until his face was mushed into the glass of the window, unable to see as it turned around a bend. Beside him, Mr Puffin fluttered his wings, lifting one to start cleaning the feathers underneath. The child smiled, reaching down to stroke the softness of the birds head before turning his attention back to the street.

Now leaning against the wall of a closed shop, the chimney sweep was looking up at him with a bright smile across his face, pipe sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Noticing that Iceland was now watching, he waved a grubby hand at him, which the child replied. Holding up his index finger to tell him, _'wait a minute', _he took his pipe into one hand before digging around his pockets until he had a square tin box of tobacco in one hand, and a box of cards in the other. Holding them up for the little nation to see, he then threw them into the air, catching the tin box and pipe as they fell before juggling them back up again.

He kept his eyes trained on the objects until he was in a comfortable pattern of throwing and catching before grinning up at Iceland to say, '_tada!.'_

Returning the smile, Iceland clapped at him. Eventually the chimney sweep caught all the items and them grabbing his cap, swinging it across his body and taking a bow, one foot pointed forward. Still clapping Iceland suddenly jumped as his bedroom door creaked opened, a figure stepping into the doorway, darkened by the lack of light reaching them. Quickly turning back Iceland waved goodbye to the chimney sweep, who waved back, before clambering down onto the chair and then onto the floor.

"What are you doing up so early?" The elder asked as he closed the distance between them, smiling down fondly at the child, "I was expecting you to still be asleep."

"I woke up," Iceland replied, lifting his arms up for his brother to hold him, "I was looking outside."

"I can see that," Norway chuckled, placing him down on the springy mattress of the bed, "But now I need you to get dressed," Iceland instantly pouted, wriggling from the blonds grip and crossing his arms in a huff.

"I don't want to wear that," He protested as Norway unhooked the suit, "It's itchy an' it smells," His brother ignored him, lying down the clothes on the bed neatly so each item was ready to wear, "Why can't I wear my normal clothes?"

"Because we're visiting your boss today," Norway explained, scooping Iceland up so he stood on the bed, "And we need you to look smart."

"But you don't usually wear smart things when you see your boss," Iceland pointed out, shivering as Norway lifted his night shirt up, "Why should I?"

"Because England's boss will also be there, this is more formal than usual," Indicating for Iceland to hold up his arms, he pulled the shirt onto him, "Look at me, I'm wearing a suit too." This was true, Norway also wore a brand new set of clothes, copying his own except larger in size and with a crimson ribbon wrapped around the hat. He also had a glistening walking stick of ebony wood which he'd propped up against the bed, the silvery handle an elaborate design, and a pair of white buttoned gloves, which were currently tucked into his pocket.

"Still don't wanna wear them," The young nation grumbled under his breath, but let Norway do up the buttons on the shirt without protest. Once his trousers, shocks and shoes were on, Norway helped him into the jacket, straightening it out before doing the buttons on that as well.

"Very smart," Norway commented, standing back to admire his work while Iceland fiddled with his collar, pulling it away from his neck, "Now for the hat."

"No! It's silly!" Iceland moaned, stepping away from his brother as he approached with the hat, "Please? I'm wearing the clothes, can't we leave it behind?"

"Nope," Norway grinned, grabbing his arm to stop the child running and placing the hat over the ivory locks. Annoyed and frustrated, Iceland glared at him from under the rim of the hat, Norway meeting his stare until the hat suddenly slipped over the child's eyes, causing a yelp to be heard from the younger. Laughing in amusement, Norway knelt down next to him, lifting the hat up, "Where'd you go?"

"Don't tease me! It's not funny!"

"I beg to differ."

"Shut up!" Still smirking, the blond stood, holding out his hand for the child to take.

"Want some breakfast before we leave?"

"Only if it isn't scones…"

* * *

"England smells," Iceland announced as he watched the streets roll by the carriage window, his eyes glued on the various items for sale in the shop windows and market stalls. Opposite him on the luxurious velvet green seats, Norway chuckled as he put on his gloves and checked the time via an expensive pocket watch.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, he's probably more willing to wash than you are."

"Not England as in the person, England as in the place" Iceland corrected, sitting on his knees and pressing his hands against the glass.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"There's too many people and carts and no one seems to wash," To prove his point, he pointed to a lady selling pots by the side of the road who was covered in grey dry clay. Her hair, caramel in colour, stuck up at odd angles behind her frilly cap as she wiped clay from her face with a grubby cloth.

"I'm sure they wash when they can," His brother commented, watching the lady merrily chitchat with passers-by, "But not everyone can keep a standard of cleanliness like we can."

"Why?"

"Well, for a start we have more money than them, meaning we don't have to work as hard-"

"So if you're poor you have a lower standard of living?" Iceland cut in, his eyes sparked with new curiosity.

"More or less, yes," Biting his lip, the child peered back outside, his hands dropping to his lap. For a moment Norway though he'd upset the boy, but then the young nation nodded in determination and faced him, his mind obviously set on something. Norway blinked for a moment, waiting to hear this bright idea.

"I'm going to make sure that no one in my country is poor," Iceland stated, "That way no one will be living in bad conditions or smell." Blanking for a second, the elder nation sighed, a light tickling his throat while a smile graced his lips.

"Oh Icy," He reached out and ruffled the confused boy's hair, "I'm sure you will," Lurching backwards as the carriage came to a stop; they both looked out to see a grand building before them. The driver, a stocky man in his late thirties, climbed down and swung open the door, holding out a hand to assist Iceland as the steps down were a bit too big for him. As Norway paid the man, Iceland stared at the thousands of people streaming in and out of the huge double doors looming in the gaping mouth of the building. Windows, all lined with twisting black iron, stood to attention in strict military rows, inside people could be seen darting about like wasps.

"Come on Ice," Norway placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to take a step forward towards the menacing building, "Stay close to me." Following the blond up the solid brick steps, he stayed a few paces behind as they weaved through the masses of business men; all dressed similar to them, and headed inside. Polished black and white tiled floors greeted them, holding the swarms of people walking and striding by.

At each wall at the side of the great hall, rows of staff stood behind tall desks, each person with a golden frame around their section. Many of the men, he guessed customers, passed back and forth what looked like large notes of money, some scribbling down in cheque books while others counted out coins. At the far end, a huge oak staircase flowed like a waterfall filled with smartly dressed business men.

"Hold this for me Iceland," His brother said as he lead them over to a free spot, handing the child his stick before turning to the bearded man and giving him a slip of paper. Holding onto the cane which was almost as tall as him, the child gaped at the hustle and bustle surrounding him. He couldn't get over the fact how crowded it was despite the large space they were in; surely there must be some kind of event going on or show? Catching his brother move in the corner of his eye, he turned to hand back the walking stick.

"Big brother, where are we?" He asked in confusion, holding out the cane. When he received no answer, he knotted his brows together, "Big brother?"

"Sorry, son," The person next to him turned, causing the younger to gasp in horror. The man, whoever he was, gazed down at him with deep wood brown eyes, his chalk white hair and thick beard that reached his chest in an oval a striking contrast against the blackness of his suit, "I'm afraid I'm not your brother," His voice was deep, stern and used to making decisions but had a gentler, softer undertone to it that made his towering figure seem less frightening than it was. But that being said, Iceland still bolted from the spot.

"S-sorry!" He called over his shoulder, deaf to the man's worried calls that followed. Due to his lack of size, Iceland quickly found himself being tossed frantically this way and that as men stormed past, voices smothering him as he tried to call for Norway. Someone shoved his shoulder, causing his body to jerk painfully to one side and the hat to slip once again over his eyes. Now blinded in the swarming mass he no other option than to let himself move with the crowd as he struggled to push the hat up and steady himself plus the cane at the same time.

"Whoa!" He cried as he was suddenly released from the crushing grasp of the tsunami, toppling out of the door and onto the hard floor below.

"Hey, steady there sweetie," A voice smirked, hands wrapping under his arms and propping him back to his feet. A copper-haired woman dressed from head to toe in pale pink beamed down at him, curls of hair slipping out of her bonnet, "You'll get crushed if you're not careful," Picking up the top hat now fallen on the floor with a rose-coloured gloved hand, she brushed away a few specks of dirt before giving it back to him, "Now go and find your father, I'm sure he's worried about you."

"Yes ma'am," He nodded, glancing back to the doors, "I will."

"Such a cute child," She whispered to herself while she walked away, flagging down a carriage disappearing inside. Swallowing, Iceland clutched the stick in his hands, his lilac orbs zooming from face to face. Where was Norway? Had he'd even noticed that he was gone? Subconsciously, his ears picked up the familiar sounds of hooves, springing an idea in the boy's mind. He daren't go back into the building, like the woman said he'd only be crushed, so why not head back to the hotel?

Determined to fulfil his new goal, he jumped down the steps and walked over towards the edge of the pavement, leaning out to see if a carriage was on the way. The road remained empty, except pedestrians crossing, meaning he'd either have to wait or walk all the way back. Shaking his head at the latter, he made his way along to see if there was any further down the street. After a few minutes of walking, Iceland still struggled to find a carriage.

What was he going to do now?

* * *

"Where did you last see him?" England asked calmly, placing is hands on Norway's shoulders so he had the nation's full attention, "Do you remember?" Norway looked at him for a moment, fear swept across his features as he desperately tried to search for the little nation. After a second, he nodded, glancing back down the staircase to the bustling hallway.

"Y-yes, I asked him to hold my cane," He sighed a shaky breath, swallowing visibly, "Just after we arrived. Ah, this is my fault; I should've kept a better eye on him." Norway pulled away, taking a single step downwards while his frantic eyes scanned the area in hope of spotting the silver-haired child. England followed him, also watching the crowd before placing a comforting hand on Norway's shoulder.

"It isn't your fault, trust me, when America was younger I lost him all the time."

"But…But he's so little, he could get hurt, or kidnapped or-"

"Or he could be heading back to your hotel; he knows where you're staying, right?"

"Yes." His voice was now timid, scared, like a scolded child's.

"Then let's go search there, maybe he's waiting for you right now," Steering Norway through the hall, he lead them outside. After all, their bosses could handle one meeting without them.

* * *

Brightness of day slowly melted away back into its bed of houses, glowing rays of sun slipping behind brickwork as the cloud of night swept in, dusk falling upon the streets and alleys of London. Exhausted, dragging both his feet and the cane behind him, the little nation, now completely lost in the back streets, muffled a sob. His vein attempts to flag down a carriage had resulted with him almost being flattened by the thundering hooves of two monstrous, death black stallions, driving him into an alleyway occupied by a group of noisy men.

They'd screamed, shouted and wailed at him, slurring their words and chucking glass bottles as he sprinted away, cursing at his outfit and 'boys of that class'. Somewhere, he couldn't remember when, he'd lost his hat and now he only wore his dirt-stained jacket with mud-covered buttons, filthy trousers and shoes and a slightly ripped shirt. The cane now bore scrapes and long, agonising scratches along the wood, the handle no longer shiny but dull and cheap-looking.

Trailing his way down to the end of the street, Iceland walked into a circular shaped block of buildings, a grass roundabout in the centre with several pine trees swaying in the evening breeze. The houses, white in colour, glowed with the warm, reassuring sight of lights. Iceland longed to go inside; to curl up under a blanket and eat something warm, filling, while snuggling up to Norway of the sofa.

Instead, he just quietly made his way over to the trunk of one of the trees, sliding down the bark until he was on the hard ground below, bringing his legs up to his chest and burying his face into his knees. He didn't cry or scream like other children would, just sat there and wondered what to do next. Find another hotel to take him in? Norway was carrying all their money though, what hope did he have for someone giving him a room? Maybe he could find a police station somewhere; they wouldn't reject him, but where was it? Near? Far? The lamps around London were still in the process of being lit, he couldn't go wandering around in the dark.

"Son?"

"Ahh!" Iceland jumped to his feet, spinning around to face his attacker head on. Unfortunately, his shoes caught a tree root hidden in the black, causing him to tumble backwards onto the grass with a _'thud'_. Standing over him like a rearing bear, the person approached, taking a big, careful step towards him. "P-please don't hurt me," Tears flowed down his cheeks as he clutched his head in his arms, protecting himself from any blow about to hit.

"Hurt you?" The voice replied, surprise hinting through, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I saw you from the window, are you lost?" Blinking in confusion, the boy glanced up, but only a shadow could be seen in the darkness.

"Yes…" He trailed off, swallowing and letting his arms fall to his sides, "But my big brother says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Then your big brother is very wise," They knelt down, stiffening as they did so suggesting that they were perhaps elderly, "Would you like to come inside my house?"

"Your house?"

"Yes, I live just there," A hand pointed out a house to the right, where a butler was waiting by an open door, "I saw you from my window, you must be hungry," To prove his point Iceland's stomach rumbled, causing the elder to chuckle. Blushing in embarrassment, Iceland reluctantly took hold of the hand waiting for him, getting to his feet (and grabbing the cane to his side) and being shown across the road, up the steps and through the doorway. Once the light hit him he glanced up, mouth dropping open.

"You're the man from earlier," He gasped, recognising the whitened hair and beard, "From that building."

"Yes, you lost your brother in the bank, didn't you?" Nodding, Iceland stepped into an amazingly warm corridor, the butler closing the door behind them before asking if he would like some clean clothes.

"You can borrow some of my nephew's clothes if you wish," The man said, showing him upstairs, "He's about your age, so they should fit."

* * *

To say Norway was frantic was an understatement. He was far, far beyond the point of frantic and, at this moment in time, he was practically having an anxiety attack. Pacing up and down the small space of Iceland's hotel bedroom, he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt (the jacket had earlier been thrown onto the bed) while muttering under his breath. Mr Puffin watched on from the bed, yawning occasionally from the late hour. Through the door in Norway's own room, England could be heard describing Iceland to a policeman, who scribbled down notes on a well-used leather notepad.

"Do you mind if I use your telephone Sir?" The policeman asked, leaning so he could see through the doorway, "So I can call the station?" Norway paused in his mini-marathon, taking a few seconds to process what was required of him. Realisation hitting, he quickly nodded.

"Oh yes, yes, go ahead," Nodding his thanks, the man went over the bedside telephone, putting in the numbers. England sighed, walking over to Norway who'd resumed pacing.

"Calm down," He scolded, reaching out an arm to stop him as he passed, "You'll make yourself ill if you keep this up. When did you last eat?"

"Eat? Oh, err…Breakfast?"

"Then you must be famished, let's go down to the hotel café, it should still be open, and get you a meal."

"But-"

"Good news boys!" The policeman grinned, strolling into the room while snapping his notebook shut, "He's already been found."

"What? Where?" Norway jumped up, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Quite a way away from where you lost him, an elderly man found him and took him in; one of our boys is over there now."

* * *

"Iceland!" Jerking with shock, said child turned in his chair to see an almost in tears Norway standing the other side of the living room; wearing neither his jacket nor hat. His elder brother practically leapt over to him before scooping the child into his arms and holding onto him tightly to his chest, running a hand through his soft, ivory hair, "Don't you ever, ever do that again, understand?" He whispered, breathing in the familiar sent. Iceland nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry," The little nation mumbled into Norway's chest, wrapping his own arms around the blonde's neck and holding him close, "I lost you." Pulling away, Norway smiled down at him, still holding onto his shoulders.

"No, it's my fault, I should've kept a better eye on you," Glancing up he locked eyes with the man sitting at the end of a long, polished table. By the seat Iceland was sitting at, a glass of milk and a plate of buttered toast lay half-finished.

"Thank you," He breathed, picking up the younger nation and sitting him on his hip, still keeping him close so he couldn't disappear from him again, "I don't know how I can repay you-"

"I wasn't a problem," The man reassured, getting to his feet to shake Norway's hand, "No problem at all."

* * *

**I hope you liked it! I came up with the idea after watching 'Mary Poppins' so the chimney sweep I imagine to be Bert! And in case you didn't understand, the building Iceland got lost in was a bank. I hope Norway wasn't too over the top but I though that, as Iceland went missing in a different country, he'd be more worried than usual, especially in a big place like London. Please check out my other stories, I've written quite a few one-shots as well as series stories for Hetalia, Black Butler and Thor. **

**Sorry for any spelling errors.**

**I don't own Hetalia.**

**Please review!**

**Sukuangtou**


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